


Isca Silurum

by Linane



Series: Isca Silurum [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Historical AU, M/M, ancient rome au, fili and kili are not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/pseuds/Linane
Summary: Written for WinterFRE 2020, prompt: 67. Ancient Rome AU, where they’re stationed at Rome’s frontier.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: Isca Silurum [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848322
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Winter FRE 2020





	Isca Silurum

Kili stared at the ostentatious wealth and splendour of Emperor’s villa with bitter awe. He’d been to _Villa Adriana_ before - it was the headquarters of the entire Roman army after all, as well as the seat of power and court - but he was never allowed into the gardens until now.

The lush, perfectly pruned greenery – most exotic specimens from the four corners of the Empire – acted as a mere backdrop to fine arches, statues and endless pools, which not only cooled the whole area substantially, but also glimmered playfully in the sun.

The banqueting area was centred around the biggest pool yet – big enough to accommodate a number of small boats on which the guests could partake in all manner of orgies. This in turn acted as entertainment for those sprawled on the expansive _triclinium_ , lined with cushions for comfortable eating and drinking. There was music and dancing, laughter and lively conversation all round, and enough beautiful whores that not one of them would have to be used twice.

But it was all nothing, compared to the Emperor’s private dining area, set a good four feet above the ground, inside a wide niche with its own pool in the back. The whole thing was lined with sparkling white marble, statues of gods and water tumbling down the cascades built into the walls to reflect the sun and cool the air even further.

Anyone who sat up there was a god, bathed in a constant halo of light, watching benevolently over the mere mortals below.

Kili thought back to his own squat rectangular villa in the centre of the garrison, with barely a fountain and a handful of sad-looking irises in the middle of the courtyard. He imagined the endless rain pattering soothingly on the fired clay roof tiles and the warm hearth of the little kitchen in the winter, when snow covered the world outside. Sounds of horses being shod, weapons being sharpened, and two dozen different accents mingling together in somewhat botched Latin.

He wouldn’t trade one simple brick of it for the entire _Villa Adriana._

Kili didn’t belong here; he couldn’t imagine himself ever belonging in Rome again.

“Ah! There he is! _Victor in nomine meo!_ ”

Kili twitched at the epithet issued in a deep, booming voice, amplified by the acoustics of the niche, but obediently bowed and came forward to stand in front of the Emperor. Immediately a servant appeared to his right, kneeling with a tray of food, so Kili could continue eating.

He was hungry, but he knew he’d have to speak, so for now he only plucked a grape. Oh, how he missed grapes…

“How is my frontier, _legatus_ Kilius?”

“Wild, but held steady, my Lord.” He hesitated for a second, but those who liked him, liked him because he spoke from his heart. And he needed Emperor Hadrian to like him. “It is beautiful land. Harsh and unforgiving, but full of truth.“

_(Rolling green hills, bountiful forests, quiet little brooks dappled in sunlight. Wide valleys carved by the rivers and tall cliffs of sheer rock resisting the sea. Simple people who defended what was theirs and bare-foot children hugging their sheep for warmth.)_

“And its bounty?”

“Subtle. Not much arable land. There are no gems to be hewed from the rocks, but there is some gold, copper and lead. And other things besides: salt, horses, perhaps not the most beautiful or noble creatures, as befits a Roman citizen , but magnificently sturdy, under any conditions. They would serve our armies up North well.”

_(Wild and free, whole herds, more numerous than they could ever hope to catch, with shaggy manes and a longer coat of hair than Kili had ever seen before. They were small in stature, but thickly built and the ground beneath their hooves trembled as they came down the rocky hillsides.)_

“And oysters, my Lord. Unlike anything you have ever tasted before.”

“Oysters?”

Kili smiled and motioned for two of his men to bring forward the tank, which took a week to fill and incessant swearing to transport. He held his breath as several morsels were dished out onto a silver platter, artfully arranged and brought up to the Emperor, but thank the gods, a delighted expression was Kili’s reward.

“Very well, and what of the barbarians? Are they as menacing as every report I am ever given?”

_(Blond hair the colour of honey whipping in the wind. Intelligent eyes and a whole series of manoeuvres that made no sense, until Kili realised that they were just right. Patience, curiosity and desire to learn, to talk, to understand.)_

“They are proud and fierce, a worthy opponents. But they are not unreasonable, bowing their heads before the might of Rome. They are willing to be our allies, instead of our enemies.”

“Allies?! Do they even know the meaning of honour? Have they any culture, any refinement at all? I understood them to be brutes who would murder you in a heartbeat, to be subjugated and taught our ways.”

_(Calloused hands gently weaving his hair into braids and tying them off with leather straps. “There. Now you’re a proper warrior.”_

_“Are you warm enough there?” Another fur placed on his back. “Here, drink this. It will help with the fever.”_

_Delicate kisses travelling sensuously across his bare shoulders and a steady hand splayed against his sternum, as if he needed help staying upright._

_A wicked sense of humour, which regularly had Kili in stitches, but only evoked slow, dimpled smiles on that beloved face._

_Endless evenings spent listening to stories full of ancestors, legends, spirits and wisdom of the generations.)_

“No, you’re right, my Lord – they are utter savages,” he repeated the words that the Rome favoured. He wanted to keep it all for himself – those steady hands, that patient care, that practical insight. “But they _do_ know honour and they can be reasoned with. Many a great nations of the Empire started from such a place.”

“And what of slaves? Have you taken many?”

“… Some.”

_(One. He’s taken one. And even then –)_

“And what rewards do you expect of me for your conquest?”

Kili hesitated. He didn’t _want_ anything, except to be left in peace, in his little corner of the world.

“My Lord?”

“Don’t be bashful now, it doesn’t suit you. Ask for anything you want – titles, land, a challenge of a brand new frontier perhaps? Young men always chase the glory -”

“Grapes!” he fired desperately, before any more thought could be spared to _brand new frontiers_. “That is… a vine, my Lord. A hardy variety from one of your magnificent vineyards - one that might withstand the cruel climate of the North and still bear fruit. I miss the wine…” he admitted sheepishly, causing a pearl of laughter that seemed to discharge the atmosphere.

“Granted. Instruct my gardeners to select twenty that might stand the best chance.” The ruler of Rome leaned back on his pillows, staring at Kili thoughtfully for a long moment. “Whatever shall we do with you, Killius Durinus? In the _Maxima Caesarensis_ , that is the North of Britannia, my generals report as many defeats as they report triumphs and are plundered by the constant raids of the Picts. And yet I send you to the same hostile lands, and not only do you maintain our presence with virtually no losses, but even suggest bringing civilisation to the barbarians. If you’re not careful, you could one day find yourself a governor of a province…”

Kili’s breath caught. They thought it was too soon. _Isca_ has always been a _frontier land_ up until now, but a governorship would mean -

“- But then again. These things are best left to men with experience of such matters. Besides, I have seen the maps, and there’s hardly enough of it to call it a province.”

Another bout of laughter from the guests.

“Make me a governor!” it just slipped out, in a blatant breach of propriety and decorum, but if there was even a shadow of a chance… “I beg of you, my Lord. I understand that it is customary to award such position to much greater men than me, who have shown valour, wisdom and merit, but I _understand_ that land and how it can be ruled on behalf of Rome. I have dealt with these people, I have made the mistakes and lived to tell the tale. With Balin at my side I am confident I could –“

“Balin the Spaniard?”

“Yes, my Lord. Balin of _Saguntum_. He’s a great friend of my father’s and he came out of his retirement to assist with my command.”

“Now here is a soldier who deserves a governorship five times over. I had him with me in Germania. He’s as shrewd as Cerberus and as wise as a housewife spending money.”

“That he is, my Lord,” Kili agreed with a smile, though he didn’t dare look up from where he’s dropped into a low bow. The silence seemed to drag on as the guests have stopped their conversations to await Emperor’s verdict.

“Very well then. But you will conquer more lands first, push on and expand our boundaries – you are young still, you should have the chance to make a name for yourself, to find your fame and fortune. Then, in five years’ time, _if_ you manage to carve out a proper province, I shall name you and Balin as its joint governors. I will expect my taxes in the sixth year promptly, make no mistake. Rome is always hungry for more grand battles, more triumphs, more glory. But give her what she wants and she will purr for you like a kitten.”

\---

Kili was tired.

They were returning in a sizeable caravan of supplies and families which have decided to join the soldiers stationed at _Isca_ , choosing to travel with the military escort of Kili’s guard. The camp was loud with cries and laughter of children, neighing of horses and rattle of moved possessions. It was more noise than Kili was willing to face just then.

All in all he’d stayed in Rome just over two weeks – long enough to show his face where it needed to be seen and prove that the story of his triumphs wasn’t a myth.

His parents were disappointed of course – “We thought you’d spend the winter at the very least!” – but it just couldn’t be helped. Kili was suffocating in Rome – he would have left immediately after the Emperor’s business was concluded, if sheer politeness didn’t forbid it.

So instead he busied himself getting some of the things he’d told Fili about, things they could share and enjoy, as well as provisions and few luxuries for his men.

He entered his private tent and threw himself on the cot.

He missed home. Or, to be precise, he missed the cosy comfort of Fili’s round house – his bed most of all.

Fili had _the best_ bed: wide enough for four people, with a sturdy frame of elaborately carved oak, complete with four impressive posts, a firm base of tightly woven rush mat, goose feather pillows and pile upon pile of soft, warm pelts for covers. It was the most comfortable place Kili knew.

It was also where he felt happiest.

He wasn’t sure when exactly the bed of a barbarian became such a sanctuary for a legionnaire.

They were sent to _Britannia Secunda_ on a suicide mission. _Nobody_ expected them to succeed, least of all under the leadership of Killius, who had seen plenty of fighting in Parthia, but never held command of his own, beyond a _centuriae_. He was simply too young at the time, and although his family had considerable influence in Rome, they hadn’t always agreed with the Emperor.

Besides, the local tribe of Silures had resisted Roman occupation for more than a century.

There was little reason to believe that even with the whole legion Kili was initially given and Balin’s counsel, any of this could change.

And so one crisp August day the two armies faced each other across the battlefield.

And then something extraordinary happened: instead of ordering his men forward and into a slaughter, until only Romans were left standing by the sheer virtue of outnumbering the Silures two to one, Kili took a long, hard look at the faces of the men set to kill him and sent a rider, asking for talks instead.

Then, in another inexplicable turn of events, instead of a traditional response of the headless messenger arriving on a spooked horse, the man returned whole and well, confirming that the invitation was accepted.

The barbarian who rode out had a long, blond hair, unbound, except for the braids he kept in, a worn, but elaborate armour, and the most intelligent-looking horse Kili had ever seen, which seemed to obey his commands without any signal at all.

Kili was shocked to see that he couldn’t be more than a few years older than himself.

The Silure paraded himself fearlessly for a while in front of the ranks, taking a close look at their armour and weapons, before stopping in front of Balin.

“You wanted to talk,” he said in Latin, with a low, rumbling accent.

It was only then that Kili realised that he had been so mesmerised, he stayed rooted to his spot.

“Actually - _I_ wanted to talk.” He pulled off his helmet and instantly regretted it, feeling the blush rise on his cheeks.

The man threw him a long, curious look, before offering a slow smile that blossomed all the way to a pair of very becoming dimples. “Good,” he decided. “You, I wouldn’t want to kill.”

They rode out together further into the middle of the field and then just… kept going, the conversation alive and vibrant between them, if a bit halting for the linguistic barrier.

They were honestly surprised to see their respective armies still standing where they left them, if looking decidedly bored, when they returned some two hours later.

He couldn’t have known back then that Fili had only just returned from a devastating war with the aggressive Dobuni tribe, which he’d finally won, at the terrifying cost of losing his father, the previous chief, as well as nearly half of his men.

Just like Fili couldn’t have known that the campaign in Parthia had been particularly bloody and pointless, putting Kili off death and pillaging for the rest of his life.

They wrote the story of that battle later – with Balin drafting its overall course, Fili correcting the manoeuvres he would-have / wouldn’t-have / allegedly-had-ordered, and Bofur, the legion’s best story teller, embellishing the details and adding little tales of courage on both sides.

Rome _loved it_.

And if Kili was honest with himself, Fili took him under his wing from that day, patiently creating ways for the Romans to co-exist with his own people where Kili couldn’t see any, teaching him their customs and etiquette, some of their language, taking him hunting and showing him how to catch the wild horses.

That was some five years ago.

And today Kili missed his barbarian and his comfy bed something fierce.

\---

Kili rode in through the Southern Gate in full gallop and continued along _via praetoria_ until he reached the villa and its familiar surroundings, practically jumping off the still-moving horse and throwing the reigns to the waiting servant.

“Where is he?”

“Oh, thank the Jupiter!” Dwalin, one of his centurions and Balin’s younger brother, hunkered in the doorway to the officer’s barracks, chewing on a piece of dried mutton. “He’s in the _thermae_. He’s been getting worse by the day, _legatus_!”

Kili stopped. “So he’s missed me?” he tried to sound casual.

“Two days prior most of his men _volunteered_ for road building, instead of training. It’s just not _manly_ \- pining like a wench in heat, with all those sighs and dramatic thousand-yard stares!”

By then Kili was already running in the direction of the baths, certain that Fili didn’t give a toss about what was or wasn’t considered ‘manly’ in the Roman army.

He’d had his own name once – beginning with an ‘F’ and completely unpronounceable to the Romans, except perhaps Kili who’d spent many a sleepless nights practicing. He took on ‘Filius’ so as to save the men from breaking their tongues – blatantly copied after Kili’s own name in a transparent message that it was merely a convenience. He continued to use both his names, depending on who asked for him, just like he split his time between what was supposed to be his mandatory training and the duties to his people in his _ordo_.

He was still the same wild, fearless, young leader, who found his own paths – he was never going to be anything else.

Kili spun mid-dash, having only now remembered the other thing: “Oh, and I left the caravan with supplies some twenty miles back! Send some boys to help with it, will you? The lads will be glad for the early relief! Maybe some of those who asked for their families –“

“Of course you did,” was his only reply, but by then Kili was already turning a corner and had other things on his mind.

\---

The story of how Fili came to be his _primus pilus_ , or the most senior cohort centurion and effectively his second in command, was as unprecedented as the rest of their relationship.

It started innocently enough with Fili forcing his way inside the garrison. Now, that in itself wasn’t particularly unusual – Fili often found himself in places he was not supposed to be, usually looking smug, having rendered the Roman defences obsolete.

Except this time he arrived surrounded by no less than ten armed men, with his twin swords drawn and an exasperated expression on his face.

“This is ridiculous!” he announced, placing his swords back in their scabbard, when Kili’s personal guard also reached for their _gladiuses_. “Each time I want to talk to you, I have to stand by the gate like a beggar and wait until the word is passed on to you. If you’re in the middle of something they daren’t interrupt you, so it could be hours! I thought we were allies? What if there was an attack?!”

“Everybody stand down,” Kili ordered and looked first to Balin and then directly to his guards for an explanation. “Well? You _know_ who he is. Why do you refuse him entry?”

“But that’s just it, _legatus_ : he could be anyone. A spy or an assassin. How are we to know? They all look the same…”

Fili scoffed. “Unlike _you lot_ in your standard issue skirts, shiny breastplates and conveniently deep helmets, my men wear a variety of clothing and rarely cover their faces. And yet you let your own in, no problem!”

“That’s because we _know_ our own,” the guards protested.

“Do you? And what makes you think I couldn’t snatch a man on patrol, kill him and put on his armour? Gods know they’re loud enough –“

“It’s not personal, Fili,” Balin interrupted, before Fili could get any deeper into his list of flaws and inaptitude displayed by the Roman army. “It’s simply a matter of principles. Anyone is allowed in the _canibae_ \- merchants, tradesmen, your people and our troops, but the garrison itself must only contain the military personnel. It’s a defensive structure.”

“Fine. Make me a Roman soldier then!” Fili demanded, crossing his arms.

“What?!” Kili gaped.

“You heard me.”

“I _can’t_ do that! You’re a barbarian, for a start! Only Roman citizens can become the _legionnaire_. Or freed slaves, at best…”

“Make me your slave then.”

Kili paled. “No. You don’t know what you’re asking for –“

“Actually,” Balin cut in once more, “this might not be such a bad idea. As military staff, you could include Fili in your counsel, so as to plan our moves together easier. You could share documents with him; you could even treat the hill fort as the garrison’s outpost and defend it accordingly. ‘Where a single Roman stands –“

“- all of Rome stands with him’,” Kili finished thoughtfully.

“And you could make him your slave for one day only. The length of enslavement is not specified.”

Fili’s dimples were showing as he offered his wrists. “Why not make me your slave for one _night_ only? That would be more interesting…”

Kili felt his face heat up. “B-But you’re the ruler of the Silures! This would have to be a public affair! Wouldn’t you lose their respect for submitting to a Roman?”

Fili looked like he was about to say something, but changed his mind at the last moment. “Tell you what: the day of _Lá Bealtaine_ approaches. Chase me then and if you can catch me, I shall be yours for the night. Otherwise, find another way to let me in without a written invitation.”

But by then it was already too late: the bait had been dangled and Kili lost many a day distracted by the thoughts of a night-time pursuit.

And so, when the day arrived, Kili chased and Fili ran, avoiding him like a cautious doe, teasing him with laughter carried on the wind, forever a glimpse, just outside of his line of vision.

It was almost sunrise by the time Kili finally managed to catch his prey, breathless and pleased with itself for having proven to be difficult.

They spent whatever hours of darkness remained, and quite a few of the daylight too, making slow, passionate love, first Kili claiming his reward, and then the other way round, until Kili finally understood that he was as much of a prize as Fili was.

“And now you’re mine,” Fili rumbled contentedly close to noon, from where he was collapsed in a heap of furs.

“Mmmm…” Kili agreed, lethargically turning the words around in his head.

“ _And_ you have to free me now,” Fili pointed out. “The night is over.”

“In what sense, exactly, am I yours?” Kili finally arrived at a question that seemed important.

“Mine,” Fili repeated, illustrating his point by giving Kili’s arse an affectionate squeeze. “You know, like… a wife.”

“A husband,” Kili corrected automatically, because Fili’s Latin, although excellent for a barbarian, was still far from perfect. And then his head shot up. “How do you mean, ‘your husband’?!”

“We joined, the gods saw and they didn’t strike you dead, so they must approve. You’re now my…” Fili searched for a more appropriate word, eventually settled on “- partner.”

“You could have told me!” Kili hissed.

“Don’t worry. The ‘striking dead’ thing hasn’t happened in living memory, so I was fairly certain you were going to survive,” Fili offered him a disarming smile.

Kili stared at him incredulously.

“Besides, the people will see you leave my house and they will know that I have taken you as my mate.”

“And they won’t mind you sleeping with the enemy?!”

Fili looked puzzled. “Why would they? Who the chief sleeps with is none of their business. If I ordered the sheep out onto the wrong pastures, that _would be_ their business and I would get my wrist slapped. But I choose my mate, same as anybody else. Besides, we’re not in conflict.”

Kili only shook his head.

“‘What is mine is yours, what is yours is mine’ –“ Fili continued patiently – “they will accept me joining the Romans now, since the gods could have stopped it, but didn’t.”

Defeated by the pagan logic and too tired to resist his own happiness or perhaps hysteria, Kili simply laughed.

It seemed to please Fili, who shuffled closer, wrapped his arm around Kili’s waist and gently tucked him against his own chest. “I will make you breakfast and bring you heated water to wash, like a good husband,” he murmured right into Kili’s ear. “But later. After a nap.”

Fili was a free man once more a few hours later, just as soon as they were both presentable, like he never doubted he would be.

He joined the legion the following morning to some mixed reactions, varying from deep mistrust to grudging respect.

If his career progressed rather rapidly, who was Kili to deny him - Fili inspired loyalty like no one else he’d ever met and was simply _there_ , clever, practical and cunning, with his invaluable advice, whenever they encountered resistance or found themselves in a sticky situation. He was the first to jump off his horse to help push a stuck wagon and the last to draw his sword – he earned the respect of his men like few other officers.

In truth, it was more than that: it was a recognition as Kili’s equal, or as close to it as was possible, with a real input into their fate in this strange, distant land, just the same as Kili, being his ‘mate’ had his say in the tribe’s decisions.

They were better together than the sum total of their parts, and slowly, oh so slowly, they taught their people the same.

\---

However much Kili’s heart desired to just get on with finding the love of his life, he was not a heathen. Good etiquette and manners had been drilled into him from an early age, causing him to stop abruptly in the middle of the _palaestra_ courtyard, throw one look at himself and take a hasty dip in the _natatio_ , or the outdoor swimming pool.

Rinsed, if not yet entirely clean, Kili finally found Fili right where he expected him - in the _caldarium_ \- the hot room. Fili liked the ritual and ceremony of the baths – it was one of a number of Roman customs he readily adopted – but he refused to follow the usual protocol and mostly spent his time soaking in the luxurious heated pool.

“Kili!” familiar blue eyes lit up, “you’re back early! I thought you’d be gone months yet! Did something happen?”

“No, everything’s just fine.” Kili accepted the offered hand and slipped into the water and Fili’s waiting arms.

They came together like a storm comes to the sea – not at all at first, merely taking each other in for a moment, and then all at once, eager lips finding each other, low rumbles of approval, arms clutching at shoulders and bare chests rubbing in a tight embrace. They may have started as two separate creatures, made out of different clay, moulded into different shapes by different gods, but by now they were one, fired together by fate.

“Missed you.” They showered each other in little half-sentences stolen in between kisses. “I couldn’t stay away that long.”

“And I you.”

“What did I miss? Did you have any trouble?”

“None I couldn’t handle. The North Road progressed, one or two more violent disagreements in the _canibae_ have been resolved. You’re a bad, _bad_ husband for leaving me here.”

“I couldn’t take you with me. You would have been no better than a trained beast to them.”

“But not to you.”

“No, never!”

“Then I would have endured.”

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

Kili could see it in his mind’s eye:

_(The beautiful golden hair, matted with dirt and glued together. A proud barbarian chieftain kept in chains for the entertainment of the court, made to kneel, touched by whoever wanted to touch him, made to fight men and wild animals he’d never even seen. No more slow, dimpled smiles, no more wisdom, no more curiosity.)_

He choked up, grabbed a handful of soft, slick hair and pulled his barbarian closer, as the memory of _Villa Adriana_ supplied his imagination with excruciating detail.

“Never, _ever_ , let yourself be taken to Rome,” he whispered.

Fili sensed the change in him and went soft in his arms, letting himself be held, while the palms of his hands switched to stroking soothingly over Kili’s back.

“Tell me of it?” he prompted gently, “Tell me, as if I was a flea on your shoulder.”

Kili took a deep breath. “You would have been in awe that such a city was possible, but you wouldn’t have _liked_ it,” he said, finally allowing some space between them and following Fili when he nudged them both to sit back in the steaming water. “There are columns everywhere, white marble, paved roads throughout, colourful statues. Men full of self-importance and women short of choices. Nobody truly happy, except if a misfortune strikes their neighbour and not them.”

Fili watched him for a moment, before offering a sad smile. “Then I’m glad that your gods sent you here, where I could teach other kinds of happiness.”

“I thank them for it daily,” Kili smiled.

“But what of your report?”

“Submitted in full. The Emperor himself questioned me, as Balin predicted.” Kili hesitated.

“What is it?” Fili pressed him gently, his eyes searching Kili’s face.

“He’s promised Balin and me a joint governorship. In five years’ time.”

“That’s generous of him: giving away, what isn’t his to give.” Fili said coolly. He may have been the most friendly of all native rulers, keen to protect his people and co-exist with his would-be invaders, but he had his pride and a deep spiritual bond with his ancestral lands.

“At least I’ll be allowed to stay here for the rest of my life; I’ll be able to protect our people. At least it’ll be _me_ , Fili.” Kili sighed, moved, uneasy with what was supposed to be the good news of his trip.

“At least it’ll be you,” Fili finally echoed, thoughtful acceptance evident in his face. “But there’s more.”

Kili bit his lip. “He’s ordered me to conquer more lands, to push the Empire’s boundaries.”

This time, the silence between them was hard and dragged on, slow like trickling honey.

“I don’t want it,” Kili whispered hoarsely, “any of it. You know that I don’t! I stand by my word and I don’t know how –“

“Explain to me again, why we want to be a province.”

Kili looked up at his best friend, lover and the closest thing to a brother he’s ever had and admired his drive to understand.

“ _Pax Romana,_ ” he started. “Justice, protection, trade. No province inhabitant can be killed without consequences, by a Roman or otherwise. We’d have to pay taxes, but anything that might threaten them would be swiftly dealt with, be it conflict or nature. Becoming a province completely changes the purpose of the army – we’d be here to protect, not subdue. It opens supply routes, sponsors engineering projects. And finally: representation – a voice in the running of the Empire. No one, save the Emperor, could tell us what to do.”

Fili appeared to consider and search his eyes for a long moment. “Then we will go North.”

“What’s up North?” Kili frowned.

“Nothing.” Fili reclined contentedly, sinking a little deeper into the hot water. “It’s a sort of no man’s land, with soil unsuitable for anything except perhaps the sheep, if we had enough of them. There is an occasional hill fort, but they depend on us for trade and will choose peace, if its price is the land they have no use of. Your Emperor wanted land and glory, not the people, or their hearts. We could follow the river, start some settlements, build some roads – you’d like that.”

Kili stared, dumbfounded, until a hint of a dimple re-assured him that they’d get through this as well.

“What do you call your lands again, Fili? We’ll need a name for this new province.” Kili tucked himself neatly into the crook of a conveniently outstretched arm.

“ _Combrogia_ ,” Fili murmured. “We call it _Combrogia_.”

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Pull up a chair, I have some 40 tabs of research, which is exactly why this story makes my nerdy little heart so happy:
> 
> 1) Both locations mentioned are absolutely real and re-constructed here in minute detail as per authentic archeological sources. You can find out more about _Isca Silurum_ [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isca_Augusta), and _Villa Adriana_ [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hadrian%27s_Villa).  
> 2) The story is set in early 2nd centrury AD, so the Emperor is Hadrian (the same one who build the Wall), Silures have indeed been resisting the Roman occupation for over 100 years and both locations are in active use at the time.  
> 3) Although a number of native tribes allied themselves with the Romans and indeed enjoyed a period of unparallered prosperity, Fili and Kili's relationship, the level of their collaboration, as well as most of Fili's shanenigans are, unfortunately, extremely unlikely at best. Which is why this is a work of fiction.  
> 4) All Roman and Silurian terms used in this story are authentic.  
> 5) The name _Combrogia_ is considered to be period-appropriate Celtic version of a much later word _Cymru_ , which in Welsh means Wales! Nobody, in the whole wide world, knows what the Silures actually called their lands - it might have just been _Siluria_ , or the land or of the Silures, but that seemed anti-climatic, and anyway, we just don't know!


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